Speechless
by Hidden-Monster
Summary: Spalding's years spent in service to the Academy have granted him more dark secrets than anyone can imagine.
1. Chapter 1

Samhain had snuck up on all of them. Not that any of the girls seemed to notice, even if was their holiday. But he made arrangements just the same. Purchased the required candies when it was his turn to make the grocery store trip. Brought out black candles and took the decorations out of storage. Only their recently returned Supreme seemed to take notice of his extra activity, snatching a pointed black hat away from the collection of items he gathered together on the table.

"Halloween, already?" she commented in a bored fashion. "Used to be, we'd have elaborate shindigs for the occasion," she continued, adjusting the hat over her blonde hair, with aid of the nearby mirror. She paused then, using her full attention to pose and perfect her portrayal displayed over the reflective surface. When the position was just right she held still and Spalding was sure he saw the image soften for a moment. Some witches would show off their magic when the mood caught them right, but for Fiona her every gesture and action couldn't help throwing off a hint of her otherworldly nature.

"Do you remember those?" She wasn't asking, but rather looking for an acknowledgement that she wasn't just talking to herself, so he nodded faithfully, adding a smile to keep the mood bright

'Days when the house was full,' he privately mused, on the chance that she might perceive his words through her adept mind. 'Everyone dressed up, games were played and music played throughout the night.'

"I think the last good ones were shortly after the millennium. Things just fell apart after that. But, by far, our company here in the late 80s made for the best parties. Hell, even the neighbors visiting were willing to try little tricks of the occult with us, after a few rounds of punch."

'You wore that sequined red dress with the matching devil horns, how could they refuse?'

"Everything's gone to Hell now. Not just the neighbors, but…you've seen our girls, haven't you?"

His eyebrows raised as he looked down to the floor, piercing his lips together. 'Weak. Undisciplined. Troublesome.'

Fiona summarized them in her own words. "Happy, Grumpy, Hungry and Dot." Which made him remember that he forgot their latest arrival. "And the sad thing is that they're our future. Likely any new students we'll see, will only be the Godforsaken offspring of this sad class."

Spalding worked out some quick math in his head, before Fiona beat him to the punch.

"That is, if we live to see them at all."

He wanted to ask her how long she intended to stay. IF she would stay. If just for a few days, weeks, hours? How long would it be this time? But for the present, his time was up. A turn of a heel and she was gone, along with the hat.

He ended up only displaying only a few of their holiday themed decors. Deciding it was best not to create too much busywork for himself when he had to put everything away in a few days. Sadly, he considered that he might not bother at all in the coming years, especially if he was the only one that cared about decorating.

In the late afternoon when the coast was clear, he snuck by the kitchen, snagging a bag of Hershey's Kisses to take upstairs.

The attic had been his since '75, if his memory served correct. By then, only 4 of them remained. And when their servant's quarters were burned down after a pyrokinesis enacted revenge against a lover who was having an affair with another witch, most took to temporary residences while providing their service to the Coven. Save for the cheater, who escaped the fire and ended up running away with his fiery beloved to get hitched.

But as he was senior among them, and considered handicapped by the general society, Spalding was allowed to remain in the house. Afterwards it was only a matter of time until his kind disappeared all together.

His distant relation, Paul, was the last one Spalding saw before he became truly alone in the house. Paul was never really committed to the Coven, too young and idealistic for the duty. But was good natured and kind in his own way, always engaging Spalding in conversation that involved only 'yes' or 'no' response, and jokes that would leave a smile on his face.

But in the end, Paul became a bitter memory in his mind as the weeks passed and he remained absent from his assignment. Traitors, they were. Leaving him the last support beam on a collapsing architecture.

Like most attics, theirs mainly had served as a storage room for the majority of its existence. For awhile, Spalding was content to dwell within the clutter, but when time permitted it, he was given permission to clean, paint and make it his own. Objects such as old clothes, books, and elements of magic were shipped off to an elder witch who ran a second hand store. While items of little importance were properly disposed of in their burn pile, which rightfully resided in the area of the former servant quarters. As for the jars of body parts and animals in yellowed liquid, no one ever informed Spalding of their fate.

The dolls though, he kept. Not only for the cheerfulness factor that they brought to the room, but several of the toys had belonged to witches, fine witches, who had grown up in the boarding house. To throw away what used to be such prized possessions would be a crime. One witch, a crazed girl with hair that reached her waist and who later ended up swallowing a bottle of cleaning solution, used to tell him how inanimate objects would come to obtain souls overtime. Her claims were probably influenced by the popular Velveteen Rabbit story, but Spalding knew as well as anyone else that personal objects collected energy in their own way. Both good and negative.

Negative energy flowed through the downstairs rooms for as long as their youths grew up to resent and compete among one another. But his room became a haven for positive vibrations. Throughout the years, the company of dolls grew as he purchased various finds at rummage and yard sales. And many were given to him free of cost, out of embarrassment and pity when the sellers realized he was mute. Several he had named after the Salem witches throughout their history. Others just sat on the shelf. Overlooked, but still with a home to call their own.

The privileged few had been given at seat of honor around a coffee table which used to belong to the former furniture set of the first floor study. Occasionally he would rotate the attendees, attempting to prevent any jealousy from arising. But for the most part, his companions were silent, not unlike himself. He would gesture and emote with movements and expressions and they just knew what he meant to convey. It was all second nature to them.

He hid the bag of chocolates in a drawer reserved for socks. This action was more for his benefit. Sugary sweets, along with cold beverages had been troublesome and painful for his teeth in the past few years. Short of seeing a doctor, which he hadn't done since taking a spill down the flight of stairs a decade earlier, he resolved the problem the best he could by abstaining from said products. The pain subsided and he ended up 10 pounds thinner after 3 months.

The incense he devoted attention to next. Frankincense and myrrh scented varieties were scattered around his room for use, the perfect wards to protect those with no natural magic abilities of their own.

Any troubles of the day rolled off his body as he rested, breathing in the smoky fragrance while the tea brewed on his portable burner. After several minutes, he stood, started some music and served. No insults were hurled, no one complained about the tea being too hot, everyone was content and quiet, letting the music dictate their mood.

The only thing disturbing their peace was the sound of cackling coming from downstairs. Loud, intoxicated, tired laughter. Spalding was prepared to ignore it at first, but it transformed into audible voices all too quickly, one unmistakably belonging to Fiona Goode. On a hunch, he followed the noise down the stairs, as it grew more urgent and upset in nature. And he recognized the other person involved, Miss Madison Montgomery.

Fiona was using words out of her nature. Speaking of her own death. All for the sake of the Coven. Urging Madison on. "Do it," she commanded over and over.

Spalding eased closer, slowly placing his foot with each step as not to be detected. When he finally reached the entrance, he lost all concern of being seen and stepped fully into view of the two blonde woman. They were both powerful witches, and he was only a mortal man, but still a man sworn to protect them.

A second too late, he saw it, the knife. It had been in Fiona's hand all along, but only when she waved it over Madison's neck did he see the fire reflected over its metal blade.

Fiona threw the weapon down and stopped, suddenly quiet. Madison mirrored her action but seemed ready to fall over in her heels. Fiona wrapped her hands over the young girl's neck. When she let go, Madison Montgomery finally toppled over.

Spalding scuffled in his step, knowing he needed to draw attention to himself at last.

Fiona looked up, eyes tearful. Red hands held out, fresh from a crucifixion. Spalding reached into his hastily fastened jacket and pulled out his handkerchief, eternally thankful that he tucked it into his inner pocket while he redressed. She took his offering automatically without a word. No words were needed, just a smile when she returned the cloth. 'You're welcome.'

"Bury her deep', she advised while staggering over to the table. "God knows what all that shit in her body will do that lawn when it comes up in the spring." She prepared a cigarette, slipped into a chair and rumpled her hair. Fiona was shaken, but not destroyed. Spalding waited, knowing she was still in need. Madison could wait. Her blood had already started covering the floor and she could do no more damage from her present condition.

She glanced his way once before taking a deep breath and speaking again.

"This coven doesn't need a new supreme," a smile crossed over her lips, giving her strength. "It needs a new rug."


	2. Chapter 2

The rug under the piano was just as much of a goner as Miss Madison Montgomery was. Together they were bounded together, as well as his handkerchief, which contained not only Madison's blood, but likely DNA that could be traced back to either himself or Fiona.

Fiona was troubled. She believed Madison was to be this generation's Supreme. Spalding wouldn't had doubted it. Madison was so similar to Fiona at a young age, minus the obvious class. But what was done was done. And if Madison was a Supreme, then Fiona was even more valuable to them now. After all who knew how long it would take for the next one to be born?

Madison's body was feather light, which was troubling on its own, but did allowed him to roll her body up easily. The only inconvenience came out of her sequined heels knocking against the floor as she was wrapped up. The shock of the situation didn't fully hit him until he finished and turned around to face Fiona.

'Why did it have to happen again?'

Fiona sat still, slouched in her chair, breathing in the cigarette's smoke like oxygen. Desperately she pointed at the table to her right, or more correctly, what lay upon the table. That was all it took to switch his mind back to his duty.

Her hand wavered and shook, that he had to steady it before handing her the glass. She gave a single laugh, grateful but likely drunk. Spalding looked away, giving her privacy until she spoke his name.

"I must confess."

For a moment, he was worried she was referring to her involvement in Madison's death, but she continued.

"I've always enjoyed our little talks together."

Unabashed and without shame, his eyes watered. If only her statement had stopped there.

"Particularly since you've lost your tongue."

In a single moment, he gone from a person in Fiona's life to simply being the mute once again.

"Makes you seem wiser somehow. More thoughtful."

The words were discontinued by the crashing of glass outside. Spalding was still lost in the moment of trying to deal with two ongoing problems at once before Fiona rose and trotted off to face the situation on her own. But not before plainly stating that Spalding should "Deal" with Madison while she was away.

Tiny bird, that's what her thin little body through the carpeting felt like. Fiona wanted her buried. But Fiona didn't consider the dangers of concealing a body in the backyard. Or the task of digging a giant hole in the middle of the night, which might look strange to neighbors, passersby or even any of their student who happen to look out a window that faced that particular view.

He drugged the carpet as far as the back porch, where he unwrapped it to remove the girl. Then folded her inside of an old sheet. The ruined fabric could get burned the following day.

He moved at a brisk phase, carrying Madison up the stairs in his arms. An easy task, now that he didn't have to load around the heavy rug as well. From outside, screams came, but none in Fiona's voice. Once Madison was safely hidden, he came downstairs to make sure all was well. As it turns out, Fiona and Cordelia were struggling to bring an injured student who happened to weight over 300 pounds inside. Fiona cast him a glare when she saw him approaching, but he nodded to assure her that his first assignment was completed.

He didn't want to think of how Queenie was injured, nor consider that Fiona might be involved. The women of the house typically kept him in the dark of such matters, and although he had grown to prefer this practice, such occurrences could potentially put all their safety at risk.

The crashing glass had to mean someone else was near or in Cordelia's greenhouse. A simple vandal was likely. A boy Queenie snuck onto the grounds was also a possibility, and would go to explain why she was outside at this time of night. But how did she come to be injured?

Queenie was the first to come to the Coven after long period of their house being vacate of students. Having grown up with an strange ability and being particular heavy-set, Queenie had come to relish in her role as an outsider, according to Cordelia. And the fact that their academy resided within a predominantly white neighborhood probably didn't help matters either. Over the past year, Queenie never really eased out of her depression or anger at the world, but at least seemed to enjoyed his cooking.

If she had a friend, it might be Nancy, who had started going by 'Nan' the moment she arrived. 'Nancy is what my parents and doctors call me," she would explain through stuttered speech. "But to myself, I'm Nan. Always Nan."

Nan had spent her last few years in psychiatric hospitals, and therefore was pleased to be at their school if only for the chance to remove herself from the numerous minds affected by madness.

Oddly enough, Cordelia seemed to assume that he might be the one to benefit most from Nancy's presence. "She can read minds, " she informed him a day before she arrived. "Maybe if you ever want to talk to someone or even let her transfer messages from you." But Spalding immediately shook his head at the idea.

Cordelia had meant well by her suggestion, but he had spent the vast majority of his life communicating through head nods and the occasional straps of paper passed into hands. To suddenly try to reach out to others was simply too much of a transition for him to undertake at his age. And besides, Nancy was hardly the first mind reader to come to the academy.

After that, Madison Montgomery was the next to arrive. Madison didn't go by a nickname. Actually she rarely even referred to herself as simply Madison at all. Always it was the full complete name: Madison Montgomery. Actress, starlet, legend. Only later when he spotted her face on the cover of a grocery store tabloid, did Spalding actually start to believe her.

But from the moment he opened the door to her vehicle and she grimaced at him, Madison Montgomery seemed to be nothing more than one of the rudest witches in existence. "You need to consider a haircut, Jeeves, that comb over just ain't cutting it anymore, " she muttered to him as he made the first of many trips transporting her luggage into the house.

While he carried the belongings up to her room, she worked on more material. "Please don't touch any of my stuff with those claws of yours,"

His nails had been infected with fungus for years before a doctor looked at them, during the same time he got medical attention for falling down the stair. At that stage, it was beyond treatment, but not contagious to others. His nails remained thick, barely growing at all and too rough to properly cut or file. Not that he would tell Madison Montgomery this. Not that he could. Not it was any of her business.

As the weeks went by, her insults grew more creative in nature.

"Here comes your boyfriend, Nan," she snickered, as he wheeled breakfast to their table one morning.

"Nah, not quite my type and a wee bit too old for me," Nan quipped back. "No offense, Spalding."

'None taken. Everyone just kindly eat their goddamn food and shut up, please,' he thought, before remembering that Nan could likely be listening to the words.

Sure enough, a second later Nan shot him a surprised look. He felt slightly bad as she really wasn't the one insulting him. But not bad enough to offer an apology as she shouldn't be listening in to begin with. He had the right to private thoughts, just as much as anyone else.

"Well, who knows. Maybe Jeeves is down with the swirl?"

Naturally Madison had timed this comment to when Spalding was placing a plate in front of Queenie. He didn't dare look at any of their faces to show a reaction, and Queenie already had a mouthful of muffin, delaying her sassed response.

He was nearly out of ear range when Madison suggested finding a nice warlock for him to settle down with.

However, in time, he came to find that that he wasn't the only target of Madison's nasty remarks. And in a odd way, this gave him a small amount respect for her At best, he was usually regarded with pity, but Madison didn't treat him this way. She just carried on in the manner that any spoiled rich brat would act around a servant.

Fiona was much the same way towards him in the beginning. But in a much more subtle and innocent fashion. From her view, the idea of coming from a modest background into a vast mansion with servants waiting at her feet, was a concept entirely too amusing not to abuse.

She also had an extra advantage in that she was all too aware of her power and beauty. So many times would she glare and roll her eyes whenever he stared or lingered near her for too long. Then run her fingers through her hair, laughing as he scurried away.

Sometimes she would take to creating spills or messes for him to clean up. Or demanding special meals to be made at odd hours, then leaving the food untouched for him to dispose of later. If she only knew how much Spalding actually enjoyed performing these extra activities for her.

Gradually, their familiarity grew to the point where she assigned him secret tasks such as stealing objects belonging to fellow students that were not friendly towards her. "I don't intend to use them, Spalding," she promised him. "I'd just like to have a safeguard incase I need it."

Overtime, she grew to trust him enough to give away little secrets about herself. Where she had come from, her family, her ambitions. "Week by week, I've tried and I've been able to do different things. 7 Wonders, hell, I have at least 10 tricks in my bag by now," she confided one evening while drinking wine he'd snuck from the kitchen for her.

"It's no secret that you're the most powerful," Spalding had told her then, just as he must have gushed to her countless times. "If you feel you're ready, they could begin to test you."

"You think Anna-Leigh will allow it? She hates me. If she gets wind of what I'm capable of she'll send me away, discredit me." The alcohol was working in her at this point. Slurring her words and causing her to make less sense, but rarely was she this revealing. "Woman like her don't like completion. I'll be lucky to get out of here alive."

"Is that what you want? To leave?"

"No, of course not."

"We could inform the council if you feel you're in danger."

Fiona moved from her seated position and reclined back, stretched her long body over the bed he made earlier that morning. Spalding remained crouched on the floor, silently awaiting her decision."

"I think you may be right. Maybe I should come forward to Anna-Leigh about my abilities. It's just..," she paused for effect.

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid of her."

He closed his eyes and nodded, even if he didn't believe her. Had he been a bolder man then, he would come forward, wrap her in his arms and offer words of comfort.

"I'm afraid of what she might do, and I think it might be best to have a someone nearby as a witness or incase I need protection."

"You know I'll do it. That is what I'm here for."

"The protection of the Coven," she laughed, knocking back the last of her drink. "Rich.."

"Of course. It's my duty."

Madison's frozen face stared back at him when he returned to unfold the sheet away from her cold form. But he knew she didn't blame him for not protecting her. After all, to her he was just the butler.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, he found out what had attacked Queenie. Fortunately Fiona had already taken care of the body. Or most of it.

"I'll give you one guess as to who sent this," she stated, once he brought the box and blanket she requested out to the greenhouse. "And the same answer is where we're going to be sending it back."

He removed his jacket and took a deep breath before picking the 'present' up and setting it inside the cardboard box. It was still bleeding, although blood hardly startled him at this point. What truly shocked him was fact that the head was still warm to the touch.

Spalding looked up to Fiona for answers. 'Is it still alive?' But she waved her hand away, already finished with the issue of an undead bull that had attacked one of her students. Changing the subject, she turned to her purse and took several twenties out.

"Just drop it off and get out of there before anyone sees you. And pick up some more candy and pumpkins while you're out."

The Council was there when he returned. As well as the mind reader who proudly told him that she was the one who summoned them. Spalding waited until he was outside before mentally wishing that Fiona had killed Nan instead of Madison. To pass the time and calm his nerves, he brought the outdoor decorations out of storage. 'You didn't think you'd see the light of day this year, did you, old friend?' he asked the faceless scarecrow once it had been assembled. 'Old Spalding wouldn't have let you down.'

Unfortunately it wasn't long until the mysterious maid came outside to call him back in. He suspected she was probably a spy of Fiona's, having arrived so suddenly at the academy after her own return. Likely Fiona didn't want the council to be aware of her, so of course he was needed instead.

He went through his routine, brewing and serving the tea for their guests. Trying his best to avoid thinking of Madison, upstairs in his room, still covered by the sheet and several of the dolls. But rather than Madison, the council's ringer leader, Myrtle Snow's main attention seemed to be devoted towards Fiona and her lack of involvement at the school.

Spalding lingered nearby, glancing at Cordelia to try to determine how much she knew. However her face never switched from the constant state of worry she had carried since the Council's arrival. If only she possessed her mother's strength.

Once Myrtle brought up the disappearance of Anna-Leigh, Spalding instantly regretted remaining in the room. But since leaving now would seem suspicious, he waited a moment before going into the kitchen to retrieve another cup. 'For strength,' he mused, while pouring the tea for their Supreme. Knowing full well that his good intentions would have no impact over the product he created and that Fiona probably wouldn't touch his tea without some alcohol added.

He was nearly to the point of being able to ignore Myrtle's icy delivery of words, until she addressed him by name.

"Stand before us."

Fiona nearly let her guard down, looking fearful for the first time while being in the Council's presence. Spalding didn't know why. Surely she knew he would not put her danger.

"40 years ago, our Supreme disappeared. Shortly there afterwards, you were mutilated. Some call it coincidence. Others call it mystery. As for me, I can't imagine living under same roof as the monster who dismembered me. Making her breakfast, pouring her tea. But you have nothing to be afraid of now. Justice is so near. All you have to do is write the name of the witch who's responsible for severing your tongue."

He had passed out twice after it happened. The first was just a temporary blackout where he awoke on the floor screaming from the pain. The second time he discovered he was in an ambulance, choking from the blood collecting in his mouth. The headmistress was there with him, that's when he knew the seriousness of what he had done. It was a task that was required, but never did he imagine what the aftermath would be like.

The hospital had been given a story that his injury was a misguided suicide attempt. To Spalding, this sounded like a perfectly fine alibi and he claimed the same when questioned by the headmistress.

'It was a mistake and I'm sorry,' he had written to her. The first of many inscribed messages he would have to compose throughout the decades. 'Please let me return to my work.' He was very fearful then that they might dispose of him then and there. It would be a wasteful action after they've gone through the trouble of getting him medical attention, but the possibility still lingered in the back of his mind.

The doctors doubted he could survive without feeding tubes for the rest of his life. He kept reinsuring the academy they were wrong, and within a few days, they brought him home. The Coven greatly surprised him then. Ailing, but still able to function with pain medication, they gave him a temporary room within the school and ordered him to rest for at least another week before he began working again. Some of the young witches even gave him charms, herbs and flowers for his recovery. Never in his life had he been the recipient to so such kindness.

But perhaps one of the reasons for the school's sudden concern for his wellbeing may have been that they had their own suspicions about his injury. The most popular theory being that it was caused by magic.

Over and over, they questioned him. Did he feel he was under a spell? Was he involved with any of the witches? Did he have reason to believe that any of the witches meant him harm?

Finally when the Council returned, they got back to the questions they originally intended to ask him before his 'suicide' attempt.

Did he see Anna-Leigh leaving? Headshake, no.

When was the last time he saw Anna-Leigh? Written on the notepad, 'At the dinner table where I was serving.'

Did he witness anything that might indicate that Marie Laveau was involved in Anna-Leigh's disappearance? Headshake, no.

At last, a wild card. Was he romantically involved with Supreme Elect, Fiona Goode?

Bitterly, he smiled, trying to make it appear like an absurd concept. Looking directly at the one visiting witch official, who he suspected was a telepath, based on how focused she was during their 'conversation,' he thought, 'Hardly, She barely knows I exist.' Then a fast headshake, no.

Of course, admitting to such would cause him to lose his position there. Which is not to say that things like that did not occur within the academy, but the Council typically had better things to do than to spy on which students were having flings with the hired help.

Again, they asked the same question and he merely shook his head this time, not wanting to overplay his performance.

Did Fiona Goode bewitch him? Did he see Fiona Goode alone with Anna-Leigh during the night of her disappearance? Had he overheard anything that would indicate that Fiona Goode intended to harm Anna-Leigh? Headshake, no to all of the above. Along with a 'I'm just a servant and my main focus for that night was to kill myself' thought for the possible mind reader.

At last they thanked him for his time, and he was allowed to return to his resting area.

Plain stark white, was this room. Just like the rest of the house. Completely impersonal, except for the get well objects left by the students. They didn't exactly put him under a suicide watch, but his door had to remain open during the day and was kept locked at night. Razors, of course, he had been restricted access to, causing stubble to accumulate over his lower face.

When he heard the door opening later that night, he knew who it was, but closed his eyes as not to give his hopes up. Her perfume gave her away before her voice did.

'Are you doped up?'

He rose up far too fast for someone pretending to be sleep, and shook his head, no. She was dressed in black once again and he couldn't help noticing that she was holding no keys or picks. Opening locks must have been one of her 10 tricks.

She sat on the edge of the bed. Oddly intimate, given that she hadn't looked or spoken a word to him since he returned from the hospital. But he understood, she was protecting herself. However, he still wished that she looked more happy to see him now.

"They asked you about me, didn't they?"

Nod.

"But you didn't say anything?"

He hung his head, wondering how she could still ask him such questions. Didn't he prove his devotion to her? When was she going to believe he would never say or do anything against her? He loved her. Nod.

"Were you under a spell?"

Spalding raised his head and opened his mouth in an attempt to make a sound to indicate that his answer was more than a yes or no response. Oh, but did he hated that primitive sound.

She looked at him pitifully at first, but withdrew a lined legal pad and pen from her robe's pocket, obviously prepared for him to give involved answers.

'Just my tongue. I was unable to lie. And the Council was going to ask me questions regarding Anna-Leigh.'

She read through it quickly and without much displayed emotion before she was ready with the next inquiry. "Who cast this spell on you?"

Spalding knew it was Myrtle Snow, as did Myrtle's friend and likely half the table that attended that night's dinner. But if he told Fiona this, she would certainly kill Myrtle. Another death would put them all under suspicion and likely Fiona wouldn't be able to escape it twice.

'I don't know,' he wrote.

"It's Myrtle, " she plainly responded back, after reading and crumbling up the piece of paper.

Headshake. 'Please, no. Don't do this, " his inner thoughts pleaded. But he couldn't had predicted her next sentence.

"But maybe I should let you take care of her. After all, you're the one she cursed."

An odd combination of relief and heartbreak ran through his system. He had been so sure that she would want to take revenge, but then to learn that his suffering was not enough cause for it.

Although when he dared looked back at her smiling face, he saw at once that this was exactly the type of reaction she was aiming for.

"Relax! She'll be dealt with," she ensured him. "But not now. And we wouldn't be doing anything like killing her. That would be far too boring and obvious."

Spalding beamed at her. Perhaps he still felt a tiny bit evil for desiring revenge, but as long Fiona was on board, he didn't care. Further more came the realization that he hadn't actually felt this good since the last time he was in Fiona's company. He had a great desire to tell her this, in less forward terms, but Fiona was already placing the notepad back into her pocket.

"I need to get back before I'm missed," she hastily explained, on route to the closed door.

After looking both ways in the hallway, she turned and gave him one last message.

"I'll visit you again when you're not so medicated, okay?"

Still smiling, at once he turned to his nightstand, grabbed the 3 bottles and made a display of tossing them in the nearby waste can.

She reacted with a silent, but seemingly genuine laugh, before locking him back in the room.

Once alone again, he fished out his medicine, laid back and replayed the events in his head. Once he realized that she never once mentioned his tongue, he loved her more than ever.


	4. Chapter 4

"This will NOT STAND!" The red banshee screeched at the top of her lungs.

A small smile crept over Spalding's mouth as she displayed the paper to Fiona. After all, it was absurd on Myrtle's part to even consider that he would blame their Supreme when Myrtle was the one who cast the spell in the first place. What did she think was going to happen?

The Council's fragile hold broken, Cordelia at last raised her voice to defend her mother. A short time later, after wishing them a Happy Halloween, the trio departed. Peeking out through the curtains, Spalding watched them each enter their separate vehicles. A source of perfume appeared by his side at the window. "Follow her," Fiona whispered.

The cars had already sped down the street by the time he emerged outside with a thin black coat draped over his suit. Fortunately, Myrtle's was not hard to miss, a bright red hatchback with a vanity plate reading 'SNOWITCH'.

Parking at a 3rd rate motel, she strolled up a flight of stairs and entered one of the numbered doors. Spalding reached into his pocket and pulled out a primitive cellular phone with extra large buttons. With some difficulty on account of the darkening sky, he managed to type in the words 'Chat Noir Motel' onto the keypad and push the send button. By the time he finished, Myrtle was leaving the suite.

Fiona arrived within minutes of his message. Whether she had followed him or used some type of trickery, she was keeping it a mystery.

Spalding made a 'away' motion with his hands to indicate that Myrtle had already left and Fiona gestured for him to show her which room was Myrtle's. For as much as he enjoyed Fiona's voice, the times when she spoke 'his' wordless language gave him a warm feeling. It was as if they were briefly on the same page and mindset together.

He had expected Fiona to only take what objects were needed to perform the suitable revenge. The mangled display of photographs on the wall probably took both of them by surprise. But Fiona didn't flinch at the sight. She calmly retrieved her own phone, capable of taking pictures, and began snapping photos of all the evidence.

Still wordless, she matched downstairs, and entered the hotel lobby. Her visit lasted only a few minutes before she walked him back to his vehicle, gave him a spoken farewell and left by her own means. Spalding wanted to imagine her riding a broomstick through the sky for the holiday occasion, even if the idea that was all fancy nonsense.

The Maid and young witches were the only ones there when he arrived. Luckily, Fiona's spur of the moment assignment had netted him a relief from passing out candy to snot-nosed kids. His long day finally finished, he climbed up the ladder to the attic and retired into comfortable clothes after checking on Madison. By now the girl was ice cold and nearly as white as the shade of her tiny dress, overlooking the blood addition.

Carefully, the stained dress was removed and caked blood washed away from her neck and chest. Her petite body was propped into a chair where he did his best to arrange her limps into a natural position. Spalding stood back and appraised his effort, but still she looked dead. Not only that, she still looked like Madison Montgomery. Two seconds away from belittling him.

He attempted to pin her hair back and tied a silk scarf around her neck to cover the wound. She looked more chipper and normal, if one imagined that her pink underwear set was a bathing suit. But as to why she would wear a swimsuit inside, and in late October, Spalding still hadn't figured out. 'Madison's a funny one,' he explained to his friends.

From outside the trick or treaters grew loud, which by Spalding's standards was anything more audible than the sound of footsteps. A fresh record was started, as he passed out the chocolates and made sure everyone was dressed and ready.

On route to his closet, he stopped to review his own appearance in the mirror. Spalding gave a frown to his reflection. Not to be discouraged, he grabbed the nearby bonnet and fitted it over his thinning hair. 'Old but not dead, Spalding. Chin up!'

Between his black suits, there it was. A beautiful white lace dress, left behind by one of the students. Too small for him, but too lovely to throw away. Keeping the helm off the floor, he carried it out for Madison to see.

Her reaction was less than enthusiastic, which Spalding overlooked seeing how she had been through a stressful ordeal.

'You're wrong, you know," he stated to her while struggling to get her stiff limbs through the armholes of the dress. 'How you said before that I should be set up with a warlock. Oh, I know you were just joking, but I love woman. How could I not? My life has been devoted towards serving them. But of course, some I like better than others.'

Her gown in place, he zipped up the back and placed her back into the chair. Knowing something was missing, he took out the hair pins and allowed the long blonde locks to fall in place. Beaming, he shook his head in disbelief. 'You won't believe how beautiful you look now! Like a doll! And you actually look your age for once.' Spalding chuckled, one of the few sounds he could still make since it required primarily the throat. 'Believe me, Miss Madison Montgomery, you don't want to ever grow old before your time.'

Days passed and Fiona hadn't returned to visit him. However at the end of his recovery week, Spalding returned to his work position where he was reacquainted with the tiny opportunities to look upon her each day. And unexpectedly he found himself to be the focus of attention from the several of the witches.

They crowded around him as he emerged to lay out the breakfast items, treating him like a wounded bird. Asking general questions like, "Are you feeling better, Spalding?" "Does it hurt still?" To which he would nod or shake his head, all the while smiling to each, generally touched and flattered by their concern. Only later would a few of the more bolder girls ask to see what remained of his tongue. He should have seen this as the first sign that he was going to be looked upon as an oddity from now on, but for the moment he relished in the newfound attention he was receiving.

Unfortunately apart from this new popularity, his day to day life was becoming more difficult to master. Eating regular food was nearly impossible. Solid items had to be cut into tiny pieces and moved around his mouth and into his throat with the aid of his finger, occasionally causing him to gag and choke in the process. Needless to say, he now had to do the majority of his eating alone or substitute nutrition drinks in lieu of actual food.

But even during the other hours of the day, his kin seemed to keep their distance from him. Perhaps they thought him eccentric for what he had done. Spalding was in no position to ask them.

And overtime he was starting to see just how less useful he was to them. They could not use him to transfer messages. He could not give them answers, beyond a simple yes or no. Could not answer the phone, greet visitors, run errands that required giving instructions to others, engage in basic conversations.

Spending more and more time in isolation, Spalding began trying to imagine what the future held for him. His existence and purpose belonged to the Coven, that was always certain. However after serving a required number of years, the men of their line were permitted periods of absence to gain wives and create heirs to continue their work.

In the early days, it was far more common for them to couple with the witches for this purpose. But gradually, this practice began to become frowned upon. Not so much for the inbreeding possibilities, it was just considered more beneficial for the Coven that their witches marry wealthy outside suitors. Or the rare male witch.

Presently, their kind was expected to stand on the sidelines. Worshiping their witches from afar, while receiving their own protection and occasional odd benefits from the women. But for all the harmony between them, their alliance had become strained in the 20th century. Too many female offspring were born instead of male, resulting in a shortage of available workers for the Coven. And many of the sons began to reject their inherited duty. No doubt with the support of their clinging mothers.

As a result of these actions, many of the branches of their family were cut off and destroyed. Now all that seemed to remain were but a few men to keep the line alive.

Spalding had made a personal decision not to marry and create heirs after Fiona entered his life. Like the Catholic members of the clergy, he would consider himself married to the Coven, if it allowed him to remain close to her.

The only problem was, since her private visit to him, his mind had started running wild with other possibilities. She was the Supreme. Surely she would be free to be with whoever she wanted. Old traditions would be overlooked. She knew that he loved her and would have to see in her heart that no one would care for her as much as he would.

Then reality would set back in. A Supreme as beautiful and powerful as Fiona would definitely not chose a servant over her endless selection of admirers. Much less a mute who could never carry on a regular conversation, eat a meal together, teach their children how to talk.

Four weeks had passed since the 'incident' on one particular memorable Sunday morning. Spalding had been doing light dusting throughout the dorms, while gathering laundry from each room. The sound of footsteps came up the stairs. Spalding turned his head to ignore whoever was coming his way. He wasn't in a particularly bad mood, but simply didn't want to be in the presence of people that day. By now the novelty of his self inflicted injury had passed. Most of his interaction with others involved being given orders.

The tap of a woman's shoe stopped directly beside him before a small warm hand grabbed hold to the side of his face, turning it to face its direction. "Your beard's growing in," Fiona said, mocking the comments he used to hear from his well-wishers. But despite the joking manner, her expression was one of plain, untelling seriousness. Paying no mind to the fact that this was the first time she openly touched his face.

Nodding was the only reply he had to offer. That and meeting her gaze while she stood so near to him, just slightly above his eye level with the assistance of her high heels. She pressed a manicured index finger against her lips, "Shhhhh.." Then spun around and carried off down the hall. Spalding followed at the same pace, watching her exit into her room with the door shutting behind her.

He considered knocking, but remembered her hushing warning earlier, so he simply turned the knob and entered. A simple but oddly personal action to undertake. She sat on her bed, which Spalding had seen countless times before, but this time it made his palms sweat. Awkwardly he came forward and stood before her, wishing more than ever that he could speak simply to break the ice.

"Sit," Fiona instructed, while working with her hair, clasping the back pieces into a loose bun. She wore a small smile now, confident and at peace in her own environment.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to visit you again," she said. "Other things had come up. You can understand, right?"

His old nod and smile came up by default. He hated how simple he had become, using these limited range of emotions.

"And I didn't want anyone to see me near you," she continued. "You've gotten in enough trouble because of me."

His mouth opened as he rushed his hands about. 'No-no-no-no!' He didn't want her feeling sorry for him, nor did he want to avoid seeing her at all just because of supposed dangers.

Unaffected, she shook her head and drew up her arms to the back of her neck once more. The straps of her blouse were lowered and pulled past two modest breasts. Stupidly, he stared. He had foreseen the outcome of this encounter as soon as he opened the door, but now that it was actually happening he wasn't sure how to go about. She was still that prized porcelain doll in his mind. A beauty to be displayed but not touched.

She ended up taking his hand and cupping it over her right breast before he moved under his own power. The flesh was hot in his palm and so soft it could be nearly crushed under his squeeze. His other hand went up to hold its mate, while carefully trying to avoid putting pressure over her pale nipple. At this time, she had taken to undoing his pants, dragging the corners down, along with the undergarments beneath.

Her sharp fingers worked over him, brushing the coarse hairs surrounding his private parts, rubbing his most sensitive spots. All the while, his own hands had only begun exploring the regions of her upper body. Spalding leaned forward to kiss the skin over her shoulders, but she angled herself away from this movement, verbally telling him, "No."

Some of his confidence gone, he returned his previous activity, now taking refuge among the area of her back and stomach. Suddenly she stood up from the bed. Reaching under her skirt, she removed the black article of clothing in one brisk careful moment, masterfully never exposing herself once.

"Lay back," she instructed in a slightly monotone voice. Spalding did as he was told. Climbing back onto the mattress, she pulled his personal garments down further and continued running her hands over his genitalia. Gently tugging and twisting now, seemingly improvising between different sets of movements. And through it all, Spalding's arms remained by his side, for fear of interrupting her activity. Heavy breathes of air escaped through his mouth, while he tried to keep it as closed.

Through partially closed eyes, he spotted her moving forward. Holding on to his length, she positioned herself and lowered her body down. The first feeling of moisture hit him like a bullet. But soon enough the hot fluid entirely covered him. Over and over, her heat and tightness took him in as she moved up and down. Sliding her lower lips to receive his erect member. Then, after one crowning surge of pleasure, it was over.

Her movement stopped soon after his breathing decreased. All too quickly, she rose up from her crouched position, breaking their contact, and steadied herself off of the bed. Fumbling with the shirt straps, she walked over to her dresser and grabbed several tissues to wipe between her legs before sliding her discarded underwear back on.

How casual she went about. All in sharp contrast to how Spalding felt as he laid there, exposed and with the scent of their body fluids in the air.

"Tie me up, would ya?" She requested, kneeing with her back to him. Still partly naked, he tried the shirt straps back together. Perhaps if there was any change in him now it was that his hands no longer shook while being so close to her. Her body was no longer a mystery to him.

"Thank you," Fiona stated cheerfully one he had finished. She retrieved her shoes from the side of the bed as he continued to watch. "Spalding, you do remember how to dress, don't you?"

Hastefully, he got up and raised his lower garments back into place. And that was all it took for his body to become decent again.

"You better go now. You don't want them to find you in this room."

He couldn't say anything to challenge this opinion. And her back faced him while she took to brushing her hair in the mirror. So he turned and went to the door.

"Thank you, Spalding."

Fiona had timed the comment to just before he left. He took a few steps back down the hall before finally processing what she was thanking him for. 'You're welcome.'


	5. Chapter 5

The kettle out, Spalding went to serving tea for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Madison, who couldn't hold her cup straight, he had to skip, but she received 2 Hershey Kisses to make up for it.

Although Spalding was apprehensive about keeping her at first, he was starting to be delighted at the prospect of having a human-sized companion around.

'That dress suits you so well,' he complimented again. 'I have hardly any nice things to wear myself.'

He slowly sipped his tea, more mindful than ever of his manners, while in the company of his new guest. The taste was dull and diluted, but he enjoyed the hot liquid running through his mouth and throat. Furthermore, a nice gulp of tea helped melt soft food items, like chocolates, so that he could swallow them more easily.

'I'm sorry for what happened with Fiona,' Spalding confessed, getting the elephant in the room out of the way. He wasn't going to mention the fact that Madison wasn't actually their next Supreme. Madison could find that out on her own.

'Truthfully, I think you two are too much alike. Actually, you both could pass as mother and daughter,' he reflected, ignoring the fact that Fiona's own daughter was more in the age range to have a teenage daughter. Spalding could never visualize such an image anyway. Fiona being a grandmother. She was simply too eternally young and carefree for such a reality.

...

Fiona's first marriage had taken place in the spring of 1972. The Coven was in a tizzy at the turn of events. Within a matter of months, they had lost a Supreme, only to elect their youngest ever, before losing her to a husband. A wealthy husband fortunately, but one kept in the dark of his wife's special status and abilities. Contributions were received from this new source of income, but other than that, their Supreme was absent from their reach and influence.

Similarly Spalding was greatly grieving her missing status. Even before her departure, it didn't seem like they ever returned to the state of their previous bond. For both of their safety, he kept his distance as she had advised him. He was well aware he could never speak to her again, but had still hoped to have those small moments when she might speak to him alone. But all at once those possibilities were stripped away from him.

In time, he made himself accept the fact that his duty still resided to the witches of the house and devoted himself back to his work. The only problem was the Coven was still never short of its own share of personal drama. Some unfortunately coming from Spalding himself.

On the evening of 'Mother Night', the first day of their Winter Solstice, the Coven always partook in a dinner feast which was their substitution for the Thanksgiving holiday, observed a month earlier by traditionalist. Similarly, Spalding's kind had a respectable sit down meal of their own, after the witches had finished dining.

Spalding sat among them of course. Nursing a drink supplement, between trying to casually place tiny bits of food into the back of his mouth. And trying to consume his modest meal as slow as possible to remain busy at the table, while his kin chatted and devoured their turkey meat and side dishes.

Throughout the course of the meal, the conversation altered between discussing movies to the subject of family matters. The most important issue being in attempting to sort out which members of their family were still dedicated to the cause.

"My brother's kid not going to join us, I can tell you that much," Paul revealed. Based on past stories, Paul's brother had gotten a girl knocked up at 15, and the two quickly eloped afterwards.

"There's more than enough of us already," William spoke up. "Considering the numbers of witches around, there's one of us for every two of them."

Aiken, the youngest of their group, cracked up. "So we each get two girls then? Sounds fair!"

Paul shook his head. "No, no. Witches are bad relationship-wise. Sneeze, fart or give them any little reason to be pissed off and they'll use their gifts against you. No exceptions."

That had gotten the table's attention. Most of them wouldn't dare speak ill of their witches.

"Also, you'd always be a servant in their eyes," he continued. "They will continue to expect you to bow down and wait on them hand and foot, no matter what relationship you have with them."

"Relationships are one thing, side fun is another," Aiken maintained.

"Sure, but that fun part isn't without it's share of dangers," William countered. "Spalding, how did you lose your tongue again? Didn't one of the broads bite it off when you tried to French her?"

Short on options on how to answer to such a vulgar claim, Spalding did the only thing that seemed rational at the time, which was to grab a nearby serving knife and throw in the direction of William's head. Fortunately for William, Spalding's aim was well enough that the blade landed in the wall directly behind the man.

The room grew quiet. None of them had ever resorted towards violence, but Spalding was growing tired of being powerless to defend himself against the continuing disrespect from men of his own bloodline. He rose from the table and left as their eyes followed him. Spalding regretted his actions immediately, but from that point on they never insulted him to his face.

Tragedy struck the next month, when Aiken was found dead after apparently taking a dive off of the academy's roof onto the bricks below. Quietly, the Coven transferred the body to Aiken's mother and began their investigation as to why another one member of their devoted watchers had decided to end his own life.

It was among the men's private knowledge that Aiken was involved with one of the girls. But all knew well enough not to state this information to the Council. It was the business of Aiken and the witch in question, unless it affected the rest of them. Likewise, the witches carried on a similar attitude, protecting their sisters no matter the circumstances.

Unsatisfied, the Council took to lecturing both parties in question, taking special attention towards interrogating Spalding, as his own 'attempt' the previous year was now being repeated. In his plain rounded handwriting, Spalding wrote some basic dribble about how he hadn't known Aiken well and was not witness to any foretelling signs of trouble or depression in the deceased.

The following week, two girls, roommates, escaped during the night. Again, it appeared romance was the culprit. Bethany and Tina has been inseparable since the former had arrived to the school. Bonds and affection between witches were certainly encouraged enough, that no Coven official would forbid those type of relationships from taking place. But some students might not be so open-minded towards such conventions. Whether the two were harassed away or left on their own, the fact remained that there was another empty room in the school.

The Coven suffering, perhaps it was only a matter of time before the Council saw to it that their Supreme returned for a visit. Spalding had overheard rumors of her potential return, but tried not to let it overcome his thoughts. When the day finally arrived, he was as unprepared as the rest.

They were serving breakfast when the secured front doors swung open.

"Don't they lock anything around here?" a man's voice complained.

Alert and vigilant, Spalding and Paul were already making their way to the entrance, before they realized just who had reentered the house.

"It's a friendly neighborhood, Dear," came the unmistakable voice.

The first sight of her stopped Spalding in his tracks. She had changed a great deal, but was more radiate than ever. Her hair, face and body was full and womanly, which was to be expected since had given birth in the Fall. A white fur trimmed coat accompanied her blue dress, in place of her usual black colored attire. The hem of her dress ran low, tightly clutching the calves of her legs. Gold graced the skin exposed from her plunging neckline. She truly looked like a movie star.

"And the staff is always on the alert. You two, grab our bags and take them up to my bedroom."

"We're not staying that long."

"And yet I brought luggage. I guess I wasn't thinking."

The man by her side carried the complete opposite appearance. Thick all over and well into his 30s, he was neither movie-star handsome or particularly remarkable in his demeanor. He gave Paul and Spalding a lookover while they grabbed the suitcases, but was courteous enough to try to offer both a cash tip, when they naturally refused.

Hearing the sounds of additional guests, the headmistress was next to officially welcomed Fiona back to the school. Fiona's husband, on the other hand, was treated with a distant touch of hospitality. Strangers to the Coven were not usually granted permission to stay on the school grounds for extended periods of time. It was dangerous to the students and for the outsider. But since Fiona was Supreme, they did not question her decision to bring him along. Especially after all of his generous donations to their school.

While talking to Fiona in private, later in the day, the headmistresses expressed interest in other matters at hand.

"I was hoping you'd be bringing someone else along."

"Not to worry, the school will get their claws into her when the time comes."

Spalding listened to their hushed exchange from the kitchen. Fiona's tone was bold and undaunting, as she spoke to her former superior. Something had changed within her. Something Spalding could only had guessed had come from the world outside the Coven. A domain that he no longer had a claim to.

While her husband toured the city, Fiona finally had the opportunity to speak with the young witches, most who had been her fellow classmates just one year prior. The words were brief and to the point, but her presence had a uplifting effect on the class and the workers of the school. To the students, Fiona was presented as a symbol of the ultimate power. What they should all inspire to be. Typically the Supreme was there on a regular basics to teach and serve as a mentor to the youths. But as usual, Fiona had taken to doing things her own way.

The following morning after their arrival, Spalding made his rounds, making beds and tidying up the rooms. The door to Fiona's room, or rather the room used by herself and her husband for that night, was left open by a few inches. Spalding peered inside, finding loose clothing on the floor, but no signs of people.

Straightening out the blankets and sheets of the bed was his first stop. Uncomfortable thoughts crept into his head as he stepped around the cast-off articles of clothing surrounding the bed.

"How is it you always end up assigned to my room?"

Fiona was sitting in the chair, next to her dresser, only a few feet awhile from him. Spalding was sure he hadn't seen her when he entered the room. But with her white silk robe and light hair, she blended seamlessly into her pale environment.

He had no answer for her, and was becoming good at masking his emotions, so he just politely nodded at her presence. 'I'm glad to see you.'

"It's incredibly unnerving how quiet you are," she stated, before taking a puff from her cigarette. "Even farm animals manage to make some kind of grunting sound or stomp their foot for yes or no."

It had been a mistake to come in. And this was her way of telling him to leave. But when he started towards the door, she spoke up. "Where are you going? Come back and do your job."

"I'm a mother now, you know," she stated casually as he went about picking up the rejected pieces of garment covering the floor. "Fortunately I never signed myself up as a milk cow. I honestly can't stomach the idea of having anything under the age of 18 attached to my tit."

Spalding worked slowly, now that she was speaking to him on more friendly terms. However it wasn't until he had finished folding the clothes and turned to face her, that she resumed her speech.

"When I found out I was pregnant with 'Delia..I was ready to just get rid of it. That sounds terrible now of course, but had I gone through with it and she never existed, it would just be old news. That's the ironic truth. Wouldn't matter at all or seem terrible in the least!"

Spalding didn't exactly share this opinion, but he nodded because Fiona did make it sound convincing. And because he was thankful she was confiding in him again.

"But what changed my mind was... I had this vision of this little blonde girl, with all these gifts. Basically, when I started seeing the baby as another version of myself or another part of me, I didn't want to get rid of her."

Spalding's hands clinched tighter as he nodded once more.

"My feelings went back and forth throughout the pregnancy. And I still wonder if those feelings of not wanting a child ended up affecting her…When she was born, she was just this little cold pale thing."

Fiona stared down at the slim brown cigarette in her hand. Spalding's heart broke for her, but having grown up listening to the legends of witches, he knew how the story was going to end.

"A miracle child they would claim, after I held her and she started crying."

The power of resurgence was one of the rarest abilities for a witch to have, typically only possessed by a Supreme. Spalding couldn't imagine how painful it must had been for Fiona to go through such an experience. Maybe this was what had caused the change in her. For even while she spoke of the grave details, her voice was steady and unemotional.

"It got me wondering if I was the one who did it. If I had the power to kill her while she was in my womb. I know stillborns occur to mothers all the time, but that shouldn't had been the case with me. My baby should have inherited my strength. I've been healthy every day of my life and you've never seemed sick or affected by medical problems.."

Her words stopped abruptly, as she crushed the tiny bit of her cigarette out in the crystal ashtray. Finally she closed out her tragic story with one last cutting remark. "That or God knew better than to unleash another version of me into the world."

Years later, Spalding would remember this as her only acknowledgment that he was Cordelia's father. He considered that she might had been lying then, as some of her private tales to him had later turned out to be fabricated. However he truly believed she did not mean to inform him of any paternal role he might have in her daughter. It had been a simple slip of the tongue, so to speak.

Or perhaps Fiona didn't know the truth either.

Over a decade later, when he finally saw Cordelia for the first time, he privately confirmed it was likely true. She had Fiona's blonde hair and brown eyes, but her face wasn't round and femininely shaped like her mother's. Rather it was long like his, with a strong jaw line. Even some of her mannerism seemed similar to his, at least from what he could remember of how he used to act.

And maybe that had been the second cruel hand she'd been dealt in life, after dying before she was even born. She inherited the wrong traits. She was more of a witch protector than an actual witch.


End file.
